Slumber Disturbed
by Mad Bat
Summary: The story of how different children and their lives were effect by the gift they recieved that Christmas Eve from Jack...
1. Dolly Dearest

Disclaimer: I do not own Nightmare before Christmas. Burton does. Yes...that's right..._Burton does_. Which means he owns Jack...but that doesn't mean I can't buy that 6 foot Jack Skellington doll at the mall and pretend I own Jack... O.o

_I can't sleep anymore, I can't even walk in my own home without being afraid. Im so confused...why me? _

The young girl walked down the darkened hallway towards the dim light that lit the kitchen. A drink of water, yes...maybe that'll help. God, she'd try anything just to get a little sleep. Was that so much to ask? To be able to slip away into one's fantasy realm? Clearly, it was.

_What did I do? Oh Lord, why me!_

She was only nine, a small girl. At one point, she had been normal. Or as close as a human being can come to what people call "normal." But that all changed two years ago on that fateful Christmas night when the skeleton appeared in her home.

_No...don't think about it..._

The small child could remember awaking to the sound of someone entering the home. And thinking that it truly was "Santa"...the girl was more than happy to go and greet him. But what she found...she soon discovered that it wasn't old Saint Nick.

_NO! DON'T TALK ABOUT IT!_

The young girl stopped some yards away from the entrance to the kitchen, listening to the clock chime twelve. Oh no...it was that time again. Midnight was when the doll came out. That putrid toy that haunted her home for two years now. It was that skeleton's fault. He was the one that brought it here anyway...

_I better go..._

The sad thing was that she was the only one the demented doll would appear too. Her parents having long decided to put this young girl into therapy because of her now extreme terror of the dark and night. And toys. Most kids her age would obsess over toys...not this kid.

_I think I hear it...Please...God help me..._

The child strained to hear anything, even the lashing rain outside or the snores of her parents in bed. But there was nothing but silence. The silence that seemed so loud that it made her ears bang. The young child breathed in a deep sigh of relief. Maybe that toy was gone..maybe it went away.

Then suddenly, she heard it.

A sound, almost like the dry sound of rough scales again the floor, came to her ears.

_NO! NOT NOW! PLEASE!_

The young girl took off running down the hall, her feet pitter-pattering on the hard wood floor. Her eyes bulged, mouth pulled back into a frightened sick grin of terror. Please no, not now...all that was running through this kid's mind was to get to her parent's room where she could be safe. For now at least.

_God give me strength!_

And the young girl was almost to her parents room when she tripped, landing spread eagle on the floor, pain shooting up through her body. And the slithering...it was coming closer. She could almost see it, the form in the shadows that hunted her every night. And when it came closer, she screamed loudly. A scream that could wake the dead right out of hell...and then there was nothing.

Author's Notes: I've been wanting to write this for a while actually, and I hope you guys liked it. I know it's short..but I might be adding some more to it. I don't know what yet though, so don't have high hopes of anything else being added on to this. I've been rolling around some ideas in my head, so who knows? Guess we'll see in time. :P


	2. Don't Scream

Disclaimer: I don't own TNBC, no matter how much I wish I did.

The young lad sat on his bed in a fetal position, legs curled up to his chest, sucking on the first three digits of his left hand. He was no older than four, a young child. His mind so easily broken...which was exactly what happened.

_Mommy...daddy..._

That skeleton, that evil that stepped into his home...ruined it. Ruined all of it. The toy he got wasn't bad, nothing alive or anything that would kill him. But it was enough to send him into a world of darkness. A shrunken head...Sure, it doesn't seem like much...but to a child, it was a nightmare. Ever since then...he's been seeing things.

_Mommy? Please mommy, come here..._

Strange and horrifying things. Hallucinations of terrifying things. It's gotten to the point of where he couldn't sleep...having to go into therapy long ago. But what did this child see...only he knew...He could remember the first time he had "seen something". It was at his birthday party, which was only a couple days after Christmas...a couple days after that damned head made it into his home. He could remember walking into the kitchen to get a can of coke when he suddenly saw three children...all giggling and pointing at him excitedly.

"Kidnap the little boy, beat him with a stick! Lock him up for ninety years, see what makes him tick!" They sang shrilly, giggling impishly to themselves.

The boy could remember screaming loudly, running to get his mother to show him the evil kids that had somehow got into their home. But when they went back into the kitchen, they were gone...

_No where to be found...Mommy didn't believe me..._

The child closed his eyes, rocking back and forth and trying to get himself to go to sleep. But it was just so hard to. Sniffling and hiccuping, the boy started to whimper, soon turning into sobs. Within moments his mother came in, her nightgown wrinkled from where she had been laying on it. She walked over to him, holding him in her arms, the boy smells the sweet scent off her. Such a comforting scent. Without bothering to open his eyes, he snuggled up to her, crying softly.

"It's alright...Im here," Said the soft voice of his mother.

Opening his eyes, the boy looked up to look at his mom, wanting to see the comforting sight of her face. But what he saw wasn't his mother. It was a ragdoll, her large eyes settled on him. The boy was to frightened move, almost to scared to even breathe, but lay there and let the doll "comfort" him. Unable to take his eyes off her, his felt his mind go blank, an utter sign that he had fully snapped.

_Mary had a little lamb its fleece as white as snow and everywhere that Mary went the lamb was sure to kidnap the little boy and beat him with a stick please don't hurt me mommy help me mommy the good daddy the brave please help me someone don't move or the doll will get you don't move or the kids will get you the skeleton will come back beat me with a stick lock me away for ninety years don't scream don't scream no matter what you do don't scream–_

And he didn't, he just lay there...letting the doll run her fingers through his hair as he curled up in a fetal position, eyes suddenly going very blank...

Author's Notes: I have decided to add more to this fic, but have each chapter be like a little short story of how the toys have effected different kids. Jack is going to sound a bit like the bad guy, which is the only thing I really don't like about this fanfic, but that's only because the kids don't know who else to blame but him.


	3. The Darkness hides the Truth

Disclaimer: I don't own TNBC, and no matter how much I suck up to Tim Burton it'll never happen.

The animals.

_They acted so weird!_

Can they sense it?

_They know!_

Can they see it?

Can they?

_Of course! _

Of course they knew. Ever since the twelve year old had gotten that hideous duck for Christmas several months ago, the animals acted so weird. It had been one of those wooden ducks that when you pull the string that was attached to their chest, it would follow you around and making annoying quaking sounds. But no matter how annoying it was, it was enjoyable.

_That stupid quaking..._

The boy had gotten one of those ducks for Christmas from that skeleton. The skeleton that would be the cause of much horror and dismay for years to come. At first the duck was no more than a creepy toy that the lad had hid in the back of his closet. Of course, little Paul was quite wrong. After a week or so his closet door would creep open very slowly, and the quaking of the duck could be heard. It terrified Paul so much that at one point he had forgotten to breathe.

_It didn't go for me..._

No, the duck went after his two dogs. Prowling after them in the dead of night. But no matter how much Paul tried to tell his parents, they wouldn't believe him. Even after the death of one dog, they still wouldn't believe that a creepy duck toy was the cause of their dog's demise.

_Stupid duck. Stupid parents. Why me?_

The boy sat on his bed, back to his closet in which the toy sat...waiting. His covers were well over his head, covering the mop of hair that covered his head. He expected to hear the closet door creep open slowly, he knew that soon after that the quaking would start and he would hear the small wheels turning slowly and the quaking of the demented duck as it rolled out into the hallway and prowled after his last dog.

_I'll get that duck...I'll get that damned duck!_

Sure enough, Paul heard his closet door creak open like a death toll. And soon enough, he heard the quaking of the duck and the squeak of it's small wooden wheels. He braced himself as he listened to the sound of the duck rolling along his floor and to his bedroom door and out into the hall.

_I'll get it! _

Paul jumped out of bed, trying to walk as quietly as possible, picking up a worn baseball bat that he kept nowadays beside his bed...just in case. Walking out into the hall, he looked up and down the dark corridor, seeing and hearing nothing.

The sudden yelp of his dog made him jump, and Paul had to mentally scold himself for being scared of the yelp of his own dog. Looking once more down the hall, he saw the darkened form of his dog racing towards him and his open bedroom door, looking for salvation. And right behind the dog was the duck...little wheels turning fast now.

_DAMN YOU!_

He swung the bat in a fury of anger. Anger for terrorizing him, his dogs...his life. The boy felt the bat make contact with something...but it wasn't wooden. Nor did it quack. Paul had hit his dog on accident, the hall being to dark to see anything in the first place.

_Oh Jesus...oh no..._

Paul didn't dare turn on the light, not wanting to see what he had done to his beloved pet. Anger was swarming up inside him, and oh how he hungered for revenge on that blasted duck for making him kill (or more than likely killed) his own dog

I swear I'LL KILL THAT FREAKING DUCK!

He couldn't see the duck...nor could he see the downward flight of stairs that was so carefully cloaked in the darkness. There was the loud sounds of the boy falling and the wooden sounds of the bat hitting the wall and the stairs as it too fell. It wouldn't be until an hour or so when his father would get up to use the bathroom would his body be found.

It was then did the duck slowly wheel itself back into the boy's closet, this time...not making a sound. Not a quack, only the squeals of its wheels. The quack had been the boy's death toll, and he finally answered it.

Author's notes: Thanks for the reviews guys! I just wanted to say that straight out. I have an idea for the next chapter, which is going to be a little different from the first three. Know that old lady who got the living wreath from Jack? Well, it's going to be about her.


	4. Mistaken Identity

Disclaimer: I don't own TNBC. If I ever start going nutters and think that I do, you have permission to hit me with a stick.

Author's Notes: Sorry I haven't updated for a while. A lot has been going on, so I haven't had time to write much. To answer the question one person had: Yes, Sandy Claws did take teh toys away, but this story is like,"What happens if he didn't take that toy away?" and so on. Plus it explores the mental effects they had on the kids and (in this case, the old lady.) Also, thanks for the reviews!

The teakettle whistled shrilly, steam blowing out in long curls from the mouth of the spout. The shuffling of the old woman's feet answered the call, as always. Around the corner, came a little old woman, cane in hand. She shambled along, the dim light from the old lamp casting a haunting glow on her face, making the wrinkles look even more dark and sinister.

_That whistle. Reminds me of something._

Addison shook the thought off, taking hold of the kettle and pouring the steaming tea into the teacup, the rim a little chipped from where it was so old. To her, there was nothing like a cup of hot tea on a cold winter night.

_Winter was when it happened. _

That thought alone caused her to almost pour the tea right onto her hand. Mentally scolding herself for being so jumpy, she placed the copper kettle back and picked up the tea delicately in her hand, shuffling back into the livingroom. With a glance outside, she watched the snow fall lazily in the darkness. The street lamp on the corner made the blanket that covered the ground sparkle. It was untouched, virgin-like.

Addison sat down in her chair, which squeeled under the pressure, springs calling out from the ancient chair. The steam rolling off the tea disappeared into the air, snake like curls almost hynotizing. If one were to look around her room, they would notice that it had a sort've charm to it that few houses had. Pictures and knick knacks on the shelves, a few antique things here and there, the furniture smelling of a sort've perfume that (for an old woman) actually smelled rather nice. Though if one were to look closey, they would see that there was not a sign of a plant or anything plantlike in the room.

_Still, it's charming, isn't it dear?_

True, charming. But ever since that night when the tendrils of the wreath had nearly gotten her, she couldn't even be near a plant without going into hysterics. Even walking by a large garden would make her heart skip a beat, more than usual.

_Oh those snakes of leaves...scratching at me._

She could remember that night well. She had been knitting something for her daughter, who had just given birth to her grandson. Though that cheery moment had been ruined with the vines had snaked their way to her, and had changed her entirely. For a frightful moment, she couldn't breathe, but then the pressure of the vines eased. Ever since then, she had been having trouble with her heart and lungs.

_Some say it was my age. But they're wrong. _

The old woman thought of this, sipping the tea gently, eyes seeming distant as she scanned over memories. Had she fainted that night? She couldn't remember correctly. Shaking her head, she placed the cup of tea down, trying difficultly to get out of the chair. She paused, scowling at how her joints had been failing her lately and finally managed to get up. Wrapping her house coat around her tighter, as if to keep herself even warmer, she started towards the bathroom, rather intent on getting there to take her meds.

_Meds, schmeds, I don't need no meds! Im perfectly normal._

Ambling down the hall, Mrs. Addison peered around at the darkened walls and doors. She should've changed that light bulb when she could, and did she? Oh, no! Now look where it got her! She walked a little slower, feeling the smooth walls under her wrinkled ones, trying to find the bathroom door to take the pills. But it was then that she felt something slither against her leg.

_It's back!_

She cried out, hurrying her pace...but her mind was slipping. She had forgotten about the rug being on the wooden floor. With a dull thump and another cry, Addison lay on the floor, breathing becomming shallow as she slipped off into a state of mind that would be called,"Unconciousness." If the author spelled that correctly, though she's not sure if she did or not and she's hoping her readers will forgive her for the minor mistake. Though Addison wasn't concerned about if some person had spelled something right or not. She was slowly slipping, the knock to the head more serious to her than it would be so someone else.

At the end of the hall, a thin tabby meowed softly, lamplike eyes gazing at the limp form on the floor before it.


	5. Mad Revenge

Author's notes: Okay people, long time, no see! A lot of crap has been hitting the fan, so I haven't been able to write as much as I used too. Though, I have decided to make it up to you guys! Enjoy this plate of hot, steaming chapters, friends and neighbors!

George sulked into the armchair, eyes staring steadily at the fireplace, arms crossed over his thin chest. The flames in the fire licked at the brick sides, nothing but a screen separating the fire from the livingroom.

_Like that mattered when _he _came here._

Ah yes, the Bone Man. Skeleton Dude. Creepy, good for nothing, son of a bitch. Or whatever else George called him. He was thirteen, puberty taking its toll on him. His pride had escalated, though even more so now than ever. From the time when the girls had cooties to...this. From playing with trains, to hanging out with friends and talking about the new girl in their English class.

_I'll kill him _again _if I have to._

That night was still burned in his memory. Then again, how in the world could someone forget that? George fidgeted, glancing to the hall that lead to his dad's bedroom, then back again at that fireplace. Oh, revenge was going to be sweet.

He had seen that skeleton, the horrifically fake Santa that crawled-like a spider-into his home and deposited presents that held horrors beyond that of which his mind could hold. George wasn't effected to badly by them. Of course, he didn't know it at the time, that his presents were nothing compared to what some children received. All he got was a pretty banged up car, the wheels to messed up to roll.

_Though it was my sister..._

Yes, it was his sister that got the truly terrifying gift.

The dead thing, as she called it.

_Like she has a mind anymore..._

George vowed revenge for his sister, who was now sitting up in an insane asylum, mumbling about the dead thing to herself and rocking back and forth.

But what of George?

Did he see the imposter?

_Damn right! _

Did he meet him?

_Hell yeah!_

Yes, indeedy, he did. And just when he was passing the livingroom to go get a "glass of water". But hey, we all know what he was really doing. Kid hears noise on Christmas Eve...Kid thinks it's Santa...Kid goes to investigate...And what does Kid find? One hell of a surprise.

He could remember that night well. George frozen in the hallway, eyes as wide as saucers as they stared at the figure creeping out of the fireplace. The horrific laugh that still rang in his ears.

The Dead Thing...

The Dead Thing was nothing more than a jack-in-the-box. Well...a jack-in-the-box that when the handle was turned enough times...a long-fingered, rotted hand would pop out.

Had it been enough to creep out George? Oh yes, of course.

Had it been enough to creep out his sister? Hell yeah.

George sat, eyes locked on the fireplace.

_I dare you...come on, you Bone-headed wimp! _

Soon enough, that fireplace came his life. And the revenge was never fulfilled. Though when George was finally taken to the asylum...He was raving about Dead Things and Tall Skeletons that rolled around on broken wheels...


	6. The Point of No Return

Disclaimer: I don't own TNBC. Be glad I don't...HalloweenTown would never be the same.

Author's Notes: Okay, this chapter has a bit of Phantom of the Opera crossover. Just, be warned.

_You have come here, in pursuit of your deepest urge._

_In pursuit of that wish, which till now has been silent..._

What was her wish? To make contact with the skeleton through the Ouija board? Well, maybe. How else? Write him a letter? Call him up? I don't think so.

Julie had briefly seen the Bone-Man. Just a mere glimpse of the blood red coat and the coarse beard. Ever since then, she committed her life to find out who he was. What he was, and where he was.

The internet turned up little results, books held nothing. Speaking with people about him did nothing, as they knew nothing.

A supernatural way to find out more about a supernatural thing...Perfect.

_Silent..._

Sitting cross-legged on the floor of her room, the Board in front of her. Fingers on the pointer, the candles flickering...

"Bless this Ouija session, let no evil come to me..."

_I have brought you, that our passions may fuse and merge -_

"I ask the Spirits to come, and commune with me..."

_in your mind you've already succumbed to me_...

Silence.

Julie held her breath, eyes steadily watching the board and pointer, waiting. For something, anything.

"Is anyone there...?" She asked in barely a whisper, the sudden feeling that she wasn't alone washing over her. The power crackling like static in the air. Her neck prickling, goose bumps forming on her arms.

_dropped all defenses...completely succumbed to me._

Slowly, the pointer slid over to "Yes". Julie let out her breath in one slow motion.

Had it been her that did that? Wanting so badly to make contact that she did it herself without even realizing it?

Maybe.

"Who are you?" She asked, not noticing that she was holding her breath again. Breathe, dammit!

Slowly, the pointer slid over the letters, spelling out a name.

J-A-C-K.

"Jack?"

YES.

"Are you the one that pretended to be Santa?"

YES.

"Why?"

B-O-R-E-D.

Bored? Julie wrinkled her brow, but was too excited to question the spirit more about that. She made contact! She did it! Her heart fluttered, breathing again...Though now she breathed in quick shallow breaths.

Though, maybe she should question him more about the "bored" thing? Maybe.

Her mind raced on the questions she wanted to ask, though she settled on one.

"If you could pose as Santa...then you must have some connections.." She said, more to herself...trying to word the question she wanted answered.

Though the pointer moved.

K-I-N-G.

"King?"

YES.

"Of where?"

H-A-L-L-O-W-E-E-N-T-O-W-N.

Hmm...interesting.

_now you are here with me, no second thoughts._

_you've decided,_

_decided . . ._

She wondered if she could have some fun with this...See if he really was who he said he was. Curiosity wasn't the one that killed the cat..Curiosity was framed. Ignorance was the real murderer. And apparently, Julie had left all common sense behind.

"If you're really king...Prove it."

Stupid...stupid...stupid! But somehow, Julie wanted to know. She wanted to _see. _

The pointer didn't move.

Julie licked her dry lips, eyes darting about,"Come on, Jack..."

_Past the point of no return.._

_no backward glances..._

It was then, that Julie felt the slightest touch on her shoulder. As if she had walked into a curtain of spider webs. She let out a thin gasp, snapping her head around to look over her shoulder. Nothing...nothing at all. The flickering lights of the candles.

_the games we've played till now are at_

_an end . . ._

A tall, thin shadow suddenly appeared in the flickering candle lights that danced on the walls. The tall shadow, standing right next to her...

Julie screamed, hand ripping itself from the pointer. Scrambling back until she felt the dull pain of the closed door hitting her back.

The pointer was moving itself.

I-A-M-J-A-C-K.

The shadow slithered smoothly across the wall towards her.

T-H-E-P-U-M-P-K-I-N-K-I-N-G.

Before Julie let out another scream, the shadow melted away...as though it were never there.

The candles flickered, then suddenly went out. As thought snuffed by an invisible hand.

Groping blindly for the door knob, she finally found it, and wrenched the door open, scrambling into the hall.

_Im the master of Fright...And a demon of light. _

_Past the point of no return... _

Author's Notes- Yes, more notes. The next chapter is going to be the last one for this story. Don't spazz out though. The last chapter is going to be the best of them, by far. The Grand Finale, you could say. Nothing like going out with a bang, eh? .


	7. The Theater Ghost

Author's Notes: This chapter is going to be different than the others. This chapter is going to be much longer than the others, so it might even seem like it's own story at times. Even though I've made these chapters so far short, sweet, and to the point...I wanted to do something special for the last chapter. By the way, there is another Phantom of the Opera reference. And this chapter is going to give you clues to the fic that Im planning on having up soon. Though this chap might not be exploring the effects of _that certain_ Christmas, there are definite references to it. I hope no one gets pissed off at me for doing this, but since this is the last chapter, I wanted to do something special. Thanks for the reviews, by the way. Now sit back, read the words, imagine the scenes, and enjoy the show. Keep in mind that this isn't Jack, but...an impression of him. Like his ghost.

"You're crazy."

"Come on, Shirley! You're the best damn journalist in town!"

"I _said_ no."

"Come on, you have to!"

Once again, Shirley Meadows and Harry Bough were at it again. On and off for the past three days or so, Harry had been arguing with Shirley, top reporter for _The Gazette Daily_. As of now, they were both in Shirley's place. Harry looking desperate, as usual, and Shirley keeping her cool..sipping on a Sprite. She lived a surprisingly simple life style, considering her social status.

"_Please_ Shirl, Im _begging_ you!" Harry pleaded. He was a stout little man, with a rat like face and a little snow on the roof.

Shirley watched him, almost feeling pity for him. Though she remained silent.

Harry paused, and regained himself. He did this often. Resorting to pleading, then quickly gathering his composure as if it had never happened. He watched Shirley for a moment, thinking of what to say. She was the type that once her mind was made...it was almost settled for good. Keeping this in mind, he took a deep breath and spoke again.

"You've covered stranger things before. The Christmas Fiasco, for one."

Shirley raised her eyebrows, listening. Ah yes, the Christmas Fiasco. She was possibly the only person that got the story straight, using the facts and not some nonsense. _Evil Santa Strikes!_ Was just one of the many headlines that lead people to believe that the skeleton had either been from outer space, or a demon from Hell itself.

Harry went on.

"Look at the pictures Shirley, at least. Mrs. Rollins specially requested you," Harry said, taking a deep breath again, sighing as he gathered his hat and coat.

With a click of the door, and a final glance, he was gone.

Shirley was quiet for a second, setting down the can and glancing at the envelope that sat on the coffee table.

_I hate you. You owe me BIG TIME, Harry!_

She wrinkled her nose, turning from it. This story was strange all right. A haunted theater, people claiming to see a tall figure with a white face. Some even going as far as to call it the "Phantom of the Opera." Of course, the theater had quite a history with this "Phantom" if Shirley remembered correctly.

_I can imagine the headline for this. He's Here! The Phantom of the Opera!_

She giggled to herself at that.

She had been requested because of the story she did about the Christmas Fiasco. Getting all the facts straight makes Shirley a popular girl, and _the Gazette Daily _a dependable piece of paper. Though this Rollins woman...She wanted her story out. Shirley figured that it was to lead more people to the theater, and probably thought that perhaps the theater hadn't had the audience that it used to, if you can dig that. The stories...probably fake.

Years of journalism had taught Shirley that there was a lot of frauds out there, and you had to be careful who you could trust. Get a fact wrong, and people bash you _and _your story. Sometimes even the paper itself.

_Pictures? Look at 'em Shirley Girl. Could it hurt? No! Stop being such a brat and look! _

Shirley snorted, walking briskly over to the coffee table, taking the envelope and ripping open the top. Inside were four pictures.

She pulled them out.

One showed the outside of the theater, which was a strangely beautiful building. Shirley wrinkled her brow, studying the picture.

_Where is-Oh, there._

The outside of the theater held a rather large garden, the shrubs looking in dire need of a good clipping. Off to the left, there was a tall figure hidden in the shrubs. He (or she...or even it) was thin; too thin to be a normal person. He was gazing up at the theater, his lanky arms at his sides.

Shirley frowned, looking at the neat handwriting on the back of the picture.

"Outside the theater, taken during a showing of _Chicago_."

The next picture showed the inside of the theater itself, the seats and balconies that the audience sat in. The inside of the theater was breathtaking, Shirley was stunned by how beautiful it was.

_I've gotta do research on this place! Royalty might've even came here..._

Looking in the seats, her eyes traveled up to one of the balconies...At first, she saw nothing. But finally her eyes pin pointed the face. The white face that appeared in the darkness. The body couldn't be seen all that well..but the face..oh Lord, the face.

Her eyes lingered over that face, and felt a chill race down her spine. The cold hand of fear gripping her spine.

_Wait..wait...Shirley, it's only a picture! Take it chilly...cool your jets...Cool as a moose..And just about every other phrase for "Calm down!" that came from your nephew._

Shirley took a deep breath, not even bothering to look and see if there was any caption for this photo, but flipped to the next.

The next showed an actual performance. The stage was large, the actors and actresses stood about it, performing what Shirley thought was Hamlet. Nothing jumped out at her just yet.

Finally, there was the shadow.

The shadow that stood over to the left of the stage, the same form that had been outside the theater during _Chicago_.

She couldn't see the face though, and a part of her was relieved.

Flipping to the next picture, her heart skipped a beat.

The picture was of the rafters and catwalks that cris-crossed above the stage. The form...the "Phantom" was seen almost perfectly. Walking across the one of the catwalks, though he was looking straight into the camera...

_He has no eyes! No eyes! Eyes...eyes...no eyes!_

Shirley shuddered, quickly stashing the pictures into the envelope.

She decided quickly to take the story. For years to come, she would wonder why those pictures had such an impact on her.

"I'll take it," She told Harry over the phone the next morning.

_And _there _goes the neighborhood._

Stepping out of her car, into the cold winter morning air, Shirley stared up at the Theater. She shuddered, not being able to help herself. She wrapped her coat around her tighter, snapping the car door shut and starting up the path, through the tall gates, and up to the doors of the theater itself.

_The Phantom lives there._

Shirley was able to contain another chill as she came to the tall doors. Was everything here larger than normal? Probably so. Before she grabbed the handle of the theater entrance, she glanced around the garden. Someone took the liberty of cleaning it up a little, she noticed.

_Nope, no Phantom here._

Before she could touch the cool metal of the handle, the door creaked open eerily. Shirley stood in place, gazing inside the theater. The lobby itself was something to behold. Red velvet, marble, the whole shebang. Taking a wary step inside, Shirley listened and watched...almost straining herself.

"Mrs. Rollins?" She called,"it's me, Shirley Meadows. From _The Gazette Daily_?"

Nothing.

_Oh, shit._

"Please, is anyone there?" She called again, getting silence in return. Silence suddenly so loud that it could make your ears ring.

Taking a few more steps inside, she let out a thin cry as the large door slammed shut behind her.

Wind. Or an automatic door..it had to be!

She was almost begging that it was so.

Though something told her that it wasn't true...

Within the lobby was a tall and grand staircase, marble statues of lions at the base. Their eyes were cold, unforgiving as they stared at her. Shirley stared at them back for a moment, the sudden image of those lions coming alive and attacking her coming to her mind.

_You're being stupid! _

Of course she was. Straightening her back, holding her chin up, she gathered herself. Suddenly looking the part of an ace reporter.

"Hello?" She called again, a little louder this time. The terrified part of her was telling her that speaking so loud would wake the lions, but she didn't listen.

Taking a few more steps inside, the clicking her heels against the marble floor suddenly very loud indeed. Her eyes scanned the lobby for a few seconds, marking the doors' locations. Just in case.

She waited a moment for an answer, then sighed softly through her nose. Did Rollins even know of their meeting? No, maybe not. Shirley frowned, wrinkling her brow as she sometimes did. There was nothing but silence. The woman stood, waiting and hoping that Rollins would appear.

"Im sorry, Dear," The woman would say, coming down the staircase. She would be an elderly woman, though she looked far younger than what she really was,"I apologize, I was just working in my office and didn't hear you."

_Okay, time to bail. Screw this, you can try to contact the old broad later. Come on honey, no one's here._

_The Phantom is._

Shirley shivered, deciding then that it would be better to just call, and set up a meeting else where. Anywhere but here. Turning on her heel to the door, she suddenly heard something behind her.

And felt the weight of a stare upon her.

Turning her head slowly, she looked around for a moment, expecting to see the old woman, but saw nothing.

_The staircase! The top of the staircase! _

Shirley froze, hand halfway to the handle. Eyes going wide, heart skipping beats.

There was a figure hidden in the shadows on the upper floor, just at the top of the staircase. Though thin, she figured it to be a man. Or male, at least. She couldn't see his face very clearly.

The form of the man could easily be compared to that of the "Phantom's."

_Ah, maybe this guy wants to confess!_

Shirley grinned, or at least tried to. Turning back around and looking up at the figure, she felt relief flooding into her.

"Hello, Im Shirley Meadows from-"

"I know."

She stopped with her introduction, and stood with her mouth slightly gaped.

_Close you mouth, you look like a fish._

Shutting her mouth, Shirley nodded.

"I came here to do a story on the Phantom, and I was wondering where Mrs. Rollins-Hey, wait!" She started, then interrupted herself.

The figure had turned and was starting to walk out of view, into a hall to the left.

_Okay, I got someone. Finally. Don't let him get away, Shirley Girl!_

Shirley walked quickly to the staircase, hurrying up the steps and pausing when she got to the top. The man was no where in sight. She looked down the hall to the left, noting how strangely small it was. Well, small for this place. She thought it was possible that the dressing rooms where down that hall. Turning down the hall, she kept a look out for the man.

"Hello? Sir?" She called, getting no answer.

_The Phantom! The Phantom of the Opera! _

_Stop being such a dimwit! _

Shirley paused, an open door on one side of the hall. The door was cracked, light spilling out into the hall. So, that's where he went. Well...no use hiding. If he wants to confess, that's fine. She could keep his name confidential, after all. Walking up to the door, knocking on the surface, she waited.

No answer.

Again.

No answer.

"Hello?" She said, taking the handle and opening the door.

It was indeed a dressing room. A vanity, several dressers, and a large mirror stood. Simple. But there was no sign of the man. Yet, at least.

_Screw this! Im out of here!_

_NO! Get the story and THEN YOU CAN GO!_

Shirley sighed, cursing Harry, and took one last glance around the room. Eyes settling on the large mirror, she studied her own reflection. How ghostly her pale face looked in the light of the oil lamp.

_Oil lamps...damn, this place is old._

Shirley humored herself by making a few poses in the mirror.

_Im a famous actress getting ready for a show tonight. I play a journalist that's just a tad bit freaked out._

She grinned, shaking her head. Then something came to her mind that struck her as both somewhat ironic, and strangely funny.

_Im Christine, and my Angel of Music is going to appear in the mirror and take me away to his underground lair. Wouldn't that be a top selling story? _Top Journalist Gets Kidnaped! Alleged Phantom Accused! _Wouldn't _that_ be ironic? _

Yep, it sure would.

Walking up to the mirror, she touched the surface, feeling the cool glass under her fingertips.

"Well, Phantom, I do believe that Im a little scared. Im leaving. Nice to meet you," She said with a slightly sarcastic tone, turning to the door.

The door suddenly slammed shut with a loud bang.

Shirley let out a cry, running to the door, wiggling the knob. Nothing. It wouldn't open.

"Oh, God, please," She whimpered, the sudden feeling that she was being watched came over her. A cold wave that made her neck prickle.

She didn't want to.

But she did.

Looking over her shoulder at the mirror, she found that her voice was no where to be found when she tried to scream.

There he was, the one they called "The Phantom". So tall and thin, his hands white as bone...coattails fluttering in some unfelt wind. In the mirror...watching her.

He face...Those eyeless sockets settled on her. That bone white face.

With a sudden surge of horror, she realized that he was a skeleton.

Letting out a small whimper, she backed herself against the door.

_If I get out of here alive, Im going to kill Harry. He owes me BIG TIME for this shit! _

The Bone-Man watched her, looking as though he was mildly amused.

"The pleasure is mine," He said, nodding.

His image faded from the mirror, and was replaced by Shirley's own terrified form.

The doorknob gave way, and her voice came back in all its glory.

THE TRUTH BEHIND THE THEATER

_A first hand account of the mysterious Phantom!_

This certain edition of _The Gazette Daily_ sold more than any other copy.

EDIT: I've decided to rewrite this story. The chapters will all be the same little stories, but more well-written. Thanks to those who reviewed this story. Im working on a couple other things at the moment, so it'll take some time. But I promise to have it up asap. )


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